Alex Archer - The Dragon's Mark

Almost before she’d thought about it, Annja found herself in motion, headed across the church at an angle, trying to intercept whoever it was that she had seen. There was only one exit from the upper level, the stairs by which she’d entered, and so she knew if she could reach them first she’d have a chance.

The gray sweatshirt flashed into view again. Her watcher was hugging the rear wall, headed for the stairs just as she’d suspected, and she quickened her own pace, trying not to lose sight of her quarry in the process.

She was almost upon him when a group of tourists spilled out of the stairwell onto the main floor, obscuring her view and making it difficult to move forward as quickly as she had been. She pushed her way through, ignoring the looks she was getting in return. No way was she letting him get away at this point!

But when she reached the stairs she was alone.

Her quarry was nowhere to be seen.

She turned slowly about, searching through the crowd, ignoring the stares and the resentful looks as she tried to figure out just where he could have gone.

She saw a flash of gray slipping between two tourists and rushed to catch up.

“Hey!” she shouted, startling those around her. “Hold it right there!”

Annja pushed her way through the crowd, determined not to let him get away a second time. She was going to get to the bottom of this right now!

She could see him, just a few people in front of her. He had not once looked back, which in itself was suspicious to her. Didn’t he hear her calling? If he was innocent, wouldn’t he look back and see what she was shouting about, just like so many of the others around them were now doing?

They were only a few steps away from the staircase when Annja put on a little extra burst of speed, pushed past a family of four who suddenly froze directly in her path like a bunch of deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and reached out.

“Hey!” she said, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. “I said, hold it!”

She had been expecting resistance and so was surprised when the other person turned suddenly toward her, nearly throwing them both off balance. A kid of about eighteen stared out at her in bewilderment from under the hood of the sweatshirt he wore. He shrugged her off and let out a stream of rapid-fire French. Although fluent in French Annja didn’t need to know the language to understand what he was saying. “What the hell is wrong with you?” sounded pretty much the same in any dialect, given the tone and the look that went along with it.

Annja stepped back, holding her hands up as if to show they were empty and that she wasn’t a threat. Clearly she had made a mistake. This wasn’t the guy.

“Uh, sorry,” she said, and then repeated it in French. “Pardon, pardon. I thought you were someone else.”

A male voice spoke up immediately behind her. “Mademoiselle? Is there something wrong?”

Annja jumped at the sound, not having seen anyone approach, and turned to find a gendarme standing nearby, his gaze on both of them. The officer’s hand was uncomfortably close to his pistol and it didn’t seem to be the kid who had him upset.

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